


it's hard to run with the weight of gold

by ThePenultimateAvenger



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 02:22:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2564774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePenultimateAvenger/pseuds/ThePenultimateAvenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lawrence Dimmick is an old fool with nothing to show for this whole thing but a broken heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's hard to run with the weight of gold

Larry panics a bit as he tries to wash the blood off his hands, listening idly to Pink but wishing to god that the guy would just shut the fuck up already. Most of the blood washes away easily, swirling down the sink, but he can't do much about the red that's seeped into his sleeves and the front of his shirt. It's a constant reminder of the beautiful boy slowly losing blood in the next room and it makes him feel a little bit sick, mind replaying the instant Orange was hit.

“Man, could you believe Mr. Blonde?” Pink asks from where he has his legs thrown over a metal chair, exhaling with a puff of smoke and a frown.

Larry looks up at the guy through the mirror as he soaps up his hands, letting out a furious breath at the thought of Blonde, that piece of shit. “That was the most insane fucking thing I've ever seen. Why the fuck would Joe hire a guy like that?”

“Man, I don't wanna kill anybody.” Pink rambles, and if he notices anything frantic in the way White splashes water over his face, he doesn't make comment. “If I gotta get out that door and you're standin' in my way, one way or the other you're gettin' outta my way.”

“That's the way I look at it.” Larry agrees seriously, reaching for a paper towel. The cold water's helping him think a little bit clearer but it does nothing to dull the feelings of anxiety and loss coiled together deep in his stomach. He keeps an ear out for any noises from the other room, itching to go out and check on the kid. Make sure he's still breathing.

But a part of him's a little afraid of what he'd find.

“The choice between doing ten years and taking out some stupid motherfucker,” he says, pausing to dry off his face. He needs to get it together. “Ain't no choice at all. But I ain't no madman, either! What the _fuck_ was Joe thinkin'? I can't work with a guy like that. We're awful goddamn lucky he didn't tag us when he shot the place up. I came _this close_ to taking his ass out myself.”

And he still might, come to think about it. Thanks to Mr. Blonde, everything had turned to shit and Larry wouldn't feel too bad putting a bullet to match Orange's right in his stomach, showing the asshole what happens when you fuck with professionals.

“I mean, everybody panics. Everybody. Things get tense, it's human nature, you panic. I don't care what your name is, you can't help it.” Pink continues.

The metallic click of a gun cocking startles Larry, seeming incredibly loud in the quiet of the room. He turns around, eying the guy warily. Pink seems like the kinda guy you don't want waving a gun around, and Larry's on edge enough as it is. They don't need anyone else deciding to go on a shooting spree, thank you very fuckin much.

But Pink just keeps talking. “Fuck man, you panic on the inside. In your head, y'know? You give yourself a couple'a seconds, you get a hold of the situation, you deal with it. But what you _don't_ do is start shootin' up the place and start killin' people.”

“What you're supposed to do is act like a fuckin' professional.” Larry says, voice hard as he slicks back his hair. It gives him something to do with his hands. “That psychopath ain't a professional. I can't work with a psychopath. You don't know what those assholes are gonna do next. I mean, Jesus Christ, how old do you think that black girl was? Twenty? Maybe twenty one?”

“If that.” After a beat, Pink gets up from the chair and follows White to where he's paced across the room. “Hey look, did you see what happened to anybody else?”

“Me an' Orange jumped in a car, Brown floored it. After that, I don't know what went down.”

“At that point it was every man for himself, man. As far as Mr. Blonde and Mr. Blue are concerned, I ain't got the foggiest 'cause once I got out, I never looked back.”

“What do you think?” Larry asks, flipping his lighter open to light up a cigarette.

“What do I think? I mean, y'know, the cops either caught 'em or they killed 'em.”

Larry takes a thoughtful drag of the cigarette, pocketing the lighter. “No chance they punched through? You found a hole.”

“Yeah, and that was a fuckin' miracle. But even if they did get away then where the fuck are they?”

“You don't think it's possible one of them got a hold of the diamonds and—” Larry makes a whooshing sort of noise, bringing his hands up to signify taking flight.

“No, no way.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I got the diamonds.”

The words ignite a spark of hope in Larry's gut but he tries not to let the change show on his face. They might still get out of this with something to show for it. His thoughts immediately go to the kid, getting him out of the country and taking him somewhere nice—somewhere out of US jurisdiction. They could use part of their share to get him all patched up and back on his way to one hundred percent. Larry laughs, feeling for the first time like Pink might be worth something after all. “That's my boy. Where?” The word comes out a little bit forceful, and fuck him if he isn't thinking about just cutting and running. Maybe Joe could use a little payback for his choice to hire Mr. Blonde, putting them all at risk to take a stray bullet.

Two million dollars in stones. Larry wouldn't feel too bad about taking Orange and the money and laying low for a while. They could get a house and the kid could spend his days reading comic books and watching cheesy movies—they wouldn't have to work, at least for a while. Larry can already imagine having a life with Mr. Orange, something simple and beautiful, dreaming of the moment he gains the privilege of learning the kid's name.

He'd be so good to his boy.

“I stashed 'em.” Pink says, breaking through White's reverie. “Look, if you wanna come with me let's go get 'em right now, right this second man, 'cause I think stayin' here, we should have our heads examined.”

“That was the plan. We meet here.”

“Well then, where the fuck is everybody? I say the plan becomes null and void once we find out we got a rat in the house.”

 

* * *

 

Larry's not sure what he's expecting from this new recruit of Joe's because Joe hasn't given him much to go on. They're meeting in a bar, so the guy must at least be old enough to drink, but that doesn't really give Larry any sort of clue as to what kinda guy he should be keeping an eye out for. It could be anyone there, for Christ's sake. So he's unsuspecting as the kid in the leather jacket squeezes in next to him at the bar, ordering a rum and coke and tapping a Marlboro Gold out of its pack.

The kid places the cigarette between his lips, returning the pack to his pocket before searching for a lighter. He pats his pockets for a few moments, making a face in frustration, before giving up.

“Need a light?” Larry asks just as the kid removes the cigarette from his mouth.

“Yeah, thanks. You're a lifesaver.”

Larry pulls his Zippo out and holds it out for the kid, snapping his fingers against the thumb wheel and getting it to spark on the first try. “Don't worry about it.” He says as the kid leans forward to take a couple puffs. “You sure you're old enough to be in here?” The question is teasing, followed up by a laugh as Larry flips his lighter closed.

“Hey, fuck you man. You wanna see my ID?”

“Relax kid, I was only joking.” For some reason Larry finds this young man endearing, watching with a careful eye as he accepts his rum and coke from the bartender. “You should consider yourself lucky, though. Not everyone is as young and as handsome as you.”

He's fishing and he's not even being subtle about it, but he doesn't have long before his meeting with Joe and hell, he has a feeling.

The kid takes a moment to look surprised, ears turning pink as he looks shyly down at the drink in his hand. “That's quite a compliment coming from a man like you.” He reponds quietly, looking anywhere but at Larry's eyes. His gaze travels around, locking suddenly on a specific point behind Larry's head and his face changes immediately.

“Well this is convenient. Mr. Orange and Mr. White in the same place. Come on, daddy's ready.” Eddie claps Larry on the back, oblivious to what he's interrupting, and motions in the direction he just came from.

Larry glances back down at the kid, who looks even more nervous than he did before, realizing a little belatedly that this kid is Joe's guy, and he's not yet sure whether that's a good thing or a bad thing.

 

* * *

 

It doesn't take long for Larry to realize how absolutely fucked he is. This kid is somethin' else, nerves and confidence all wrapped up together, hair constantly threatening to flop into his face. Larry's almost disappointed as Orange finishes up his anecdote, already enamored by the way the kid talks. Those green eyes land on his, lingering there for a few seconds longer than necessary before flickering down to Larry's lips.

Larry smiles and Orange looks away nervously, mouth quirking up bashfully even as he looks over at Joe.

The interview lasts for another forty five minutes—or somewhere in that ballpark, Larry's too busy assessing the kid to look at the time—and when Orange excuses himself to the bathroom, Joe raises an expectant eyebrow at the two men sitting at the table with him.

“So what do you boys think?”

“I like him.” Larry says honestly. Regardless of how attractive he finds the kid, it looks like Orange could be a pretty good thief, too. It would probably be good for him to do a job with some professionals before getting more serious about making a career of this shit, and there could be no better team for the guy to be on.

Eddie laughs, throwing back the last of his whiskey. “'Course you like him, you've been making eyes at the bastard all night. I think we need an unbiased opinion here.”

“Hey, fuck you. I was asked for my opinion and I gave it.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, swirling the ice around in the bottom of his glass as he glances over to the bathroom. “I dunno daddy, I like him too. He came highly recommended from Long Beach Mike and I say we give him a chance.”

“I was thinkin' the same. It's settled, then.”

 

Larry watches the excitement in the kid's eyes as Joe tells him he's in, enthusiasm hidden behind a calm and cool exterior. His eyes are what give him away, youthful and far too innocent for his own good. He's practically _beaming_ and Larry can't help but wink a little flirtatiously, adoring the way Orange smiles and flushes at the attention.

“Hey, I gotta call my ride, but thank you for the opportunity fellas.” Orange says, finishing off his second rum and coke of the night and offering a wave as he heads for the door. Larry's disappointed to see him go but they're on the same job, it won't be the last they see of each other. There's no need for impatience.

He says his goodbyes to Joe and Eddie, giving a terse ' _hardy-fuckin'-har_ ' when Nice Guy shoots him another jibe about being sweet on the kid. It's like nobody respects their elders anymore. He pulls out a cigarette as he makes his way outside, lighting it up on the way to his car. The metallic clink echoes across the parking lot as he flicks his lighter closed and he releases a puff of smoke into the cool night air.

He's not entirely sure if he should have been expecting the voice that calls after him, but he's pleasantly surprised either way.

“Mr. White, wait up!”

“Hey, kid. Congrats on making it onto the crew.”

“Thanks. I'm looking forward to working with you. And uh, y'know, everyone else.” Mr. Orange clears his throat, looking down at the asphalt with an embarrassed sort of smile. When it's just him and Larry, his earlier bravado ebbs away, leaving him to fumble with his words and fidget awkwardly with his sleeves. After a beat, he looks back up. “So um, do you think I could get a ride? Mine fell through and you're the only person I can think to ask.”

“Sure.” Larry agrees easily, offering the kid a smile and motioning toward his Lincoln with the hand that's holding a cigarette. “Hop in.”

 

“So, you live in town?” Orange asks as the engine starts, holding an unlit Marlboro Gold out to request a light. Larry is happy to oblige, flicking his lighter open with one hand and watching carefully as the kid steadies the flame with a hand against Larry's wrist.

“I'm stayin' at a motel.”

“Yeah?” Orange has his cigarette held tightly between his lips as he speaks, letting his hand linger even as Larry shuts the lighter. “You know what I think?”

“What do you think?”

“I think,” Mr. Orange starts, leaning in closer and lowering his voice, fingers slowly wandering up Larry's arm. “You should invite me back to your hotel room because I would _love_ to hear more about this job we're gonna do. You look like a guy who knows what he's doing, maybe you could give me some pointers.”

Larry smiles, warmth spreading through his chest and making him feel giddy. “That so? Well, how would you like to come back to my motel room, then?” he asks, pulling out of the parking space and looking fondly over at Mr. Orange.

“I would love to.”

 

* * *

 

The kid is still breathing but it's shallow and uneven and Larry is so goddamn scared that he's not gonna make it out of this. He puts his sunglasses back into his pocket, rethinking his already limited options. Maybe taking the kid to the hospital is the best choice. Even if Orange has to do a few years in the slammer, at least he'd be _alive_ , and Larry doesn't mind waiting. He'll wait for this kid forever if he has to, but it's not gonna matter if the kid dies in a pool of his own blood on the warehouse floor.

But Pink's already talking about Orange like he's an unfortunate but unavoidable casualty and Larry feels like shooting the guy, seeing how reluctant he is to visit a hospital then. Tensions are running high and Larry's only concern is for Orange—god, he doesn't even care if it means losing out on the diamonds, he just wants to get the kid to a doctor because he's not gonna last.

 

* * *

 

 

Larry will admit that he feels a little in over his head as the kid sprawls out on his motel bed, looking up at him with half-lidded eyes and a casual smile, hands folded behind his head. “So, what'dya think of this job?”

“What do I think? I think it's a good cut with little risk.” Larry answers, moving across the room to pull a couple of beers out of the small fridge. He holds one out to the kid with a questioning look. “You want a beer?”

Orange doesn't answer right away but he does get up from the bed, crossing the room with a few large strides until he's standing right in front of Larry, fingers coaxing the beers from his hands. He sets the glass bottles heavily on the counter before crowding in even closer, putting a hand on Larry's chest. “I'd rather suck you off,” he whispers right next to Larry's ear, hands sneaking downward and hovering just above his belt. “Can I?”

“How can I say no when you ask so nicely?” Larry says with a shaky laugh. Orange smiles wide, falling to his knees as his deft fingers start undoing White's belt. He makes such a pretty picture and Larry exhales unevenly, pushing a hand through the kids hair, gentle and encouraging.

“It's been a while since I last did this so I, uh, I'm sorry if my skills are a little rusty,” Orange warns but he wastes no time in pulling Larry's dick out, wrapping a hand around the base and stroking a few times, long and slow, before wrapping his lips around the head. Larry thinks maybe the kid was just being modest with his warning because he gives head like a natural, hollowing his cheeks with the perfect amount of pressure and looking up at Larry through his eyelashes like he's having the time of his fucking life.

“Mm, that's good, kiddo, so good.” Larry coos quietly, tangling both of his hands in Orange's hair just to steady himself. It doesn't take long at all for him to get close, ushering the kid off with a finger at his jaw. “Come here,” Larry commands, voice rough as he holds his hands out to help Orange off the floor. “What do you want? I wanna make you feel good.”

“Kiss me?” Orange asks, breathless with an expression like he half expects to be denied.

But Larry doesn't even hesitate, pulling the kid forward and kissing him like he's wanted to since he first caught sight of him. Lips brush against lips, drawing beautiful noises from the back of Orange's throat as hands roam across his chest. “You wanna move over to the bed?” Larry asks, breathless. He pulls back and runs a hand through dirty blond hair, searching the young face for any sign of uncertainty.

But there's none to be found.

“Yeah,” Orange breathes, pupils blown wide as he pulls away reluctantly. He catches Larry's eyes before pulling his shirt off and letting it fall gracelessly to the floor, backing up until his legs hit the edge of the bed. He lets himself fall backwards, bouncing slightly on the bed's surface before leaning up on his elbows and looking at Larry through a curtain of hair. The bulge in his jeans is obvious and he grins as he catches the older man staring. “You comin' over here or what?”

Larry takes a moment to just enjoy the sight of Orange spread out for him, eyes traveling across the expanse of a pale chest. “You want me to come over there?” He asks, teasing, voice a little rougher than he was expecting. God, the things this kid is doing to him.

Orange grins, laughing as he nods, kicking his shoes onto the floor and stretching his feet out. “I mean, only if you want. You _could_ stay there and watch me jack off if you wanted that instead. I was just sorta hoping you'd decide to fuck me once you got over here.”

The words go straight to Larry's dick and _fuck_ is this kid just full of surprises. He moves forward, crawling onto the bed and smoothing a hand across Orange's shoulder as he leans down to claim those lips again, savoring every goddamn moment of it because he doubts he's ever gonna find someone like this again.

 

* * *

 

When Larry wakes up the morning after the interview he sees Mr. Orange scrambling to gather his clothes, looking thoroughly fucked and debauched. Larry's voice is little more than a rasp as he speaks, breaking through the room's silence. “Where d'you think you're goin', kid?”

Orange practically jumps out of his skin, doing an about face with the most sheepish expression possible. His face flushes and his eyes skitter across Larry's bare chest before finding themselves glued to the curtains. “I figured I would get outta your hair. I didn't know if...y'know, you expected me to leave or whatever.”

“Do you _want_ to leave?”

“Well, I mean, it's not like I'd mind staying.”

Larry smiles easily and pulls the corner of the blanket up, an obvious invitation for the kid to get back in bed. “Then stay. We can go for breakfast later. I'm in no rush to see you go.”

Orange puts his clothes back on the floor, hesitating for a moment before pulling his underwear on and crawling into bed. “I don't want to get you in trouble with Joe or anything.”

“It's none of Joe's business who I mess around with.” Larry says with a chuckle, turning over so he can face Mr. Orange. They aren't quite touching, just breathing the same air, and Larry feels intoxicated by this kid whose name he doesn't even know.

He hasn't felt like this about anyone for a long time. In fact, he'd just about given up on the concept of true romance and, until now, had been content to life his life from meaningless lay to meaningless lay. But Orange is the furthest thing from meaningless and Larry's already smitten after just one night.

They go back to bed for a couple more hours and Larry wakes up again with the kid pulled tightly against him, arm thrown protectively over the younger man's body.

 

* * *

 

Larry's not stupid enough to delude himself into thinking that he's not falling in love with Mr. Orange. He's falling for this kid and he's falling  _hard_  and there's no fucking way in the world to deny it. He's too far gone. He presses a kiss to the top of Orange's head, careful not to wake him because it's still early. The kid's breathing is even and Larry admires the lines of his face in the dark blue morning light peeking in through the curtains. He feels like the luckiest goddamn person on the planet to have such a gorgeous boy tucked underneath his arm and the fact that the kid seems to like him too is just a bonus.

As if sensing Larry's thoughts Orange stirs, pressing closer and nuzzling his face into the crook of the older man's neck with a deep sigh. “Mmmm, what time is it?” he asks without opening his eyes, slinking his arm around Larry's waist.

“Just after six.”

“Jesus, it's too early.”

“Then go back to sleep, baby. I'm sorry if I woke you.” Larry murmers, running a gentle hand through Orange's hair. Their legs twine together beneath the covers and Orange presses a kiss to Larry's chest, breathing him in and humming to himself.

“You're thinking too loud.”

Larry chuckles. “Sorry. I'll try to think a little quieter.”

Mr. Orange lets a huff of air out of his nose, the only laugh he can muster in his half-awake state, rubbing small, thoughtless circles into the small of Larry's back. “Tell me what you were thinking about.”

“I was thinkin' about how pretty you look.”

Orange smiles, finally opening his eyes and looking up at Larry as he blinks away the exhaustion. “Can I tell you somethin?”

“Sure.”

“You gotta promise not to make a big deal out of it though, okay man?”

“I'll do my best.”

“No, you have to promise! Otherwise I'm keepin' my mouth shut, I'll just go back to sleep.”

“Okay, okay. I promise.” Larry says, following the words with a short kiss and a reassuring smile. “Tell me.”

“I think I'm in love with you.” Orange whispers and he looks downright terrified as he says it, wide-eyes as he holds Larry's gaze.

And that's the moment Larry realizes that there's no coming back from this. He loves this kid so goddamn much and he'd do anything to stay with him, heart swelling as he presses a trail of kisses onto Orange's forehead, down over his eyelids, and finally coming to his lips. “I'm so far gone for you, kid. Just say the word and I'll go away with you.”

“Is that something you'd want? I mean, when all this is over...you'd actually consider stickin' with me?” Mr. Orange seems so skeptical, brow furrowed as he puzzles it out.

Larry kisses him hard pouring his whole heart into the gesture. “You have potential to be a good little thief and there's a lot I could teach you. I mean, you've already managed to steal my heart.”

Orange lets out a single laugh that ends on a hysterical note and covers his face with a hand, taking a few deep breaths.

It takes Larry a few prolonged seconds to realize that Orange is  _crying_  and panic hits him like a wave. “Hey, what is it? What's wrong?”

“God,  _fuck_.” The kid mutters, extracting himself from Larry's arms with a loud sniff and nearly tripping as his legs get tangled in the comforter. “I'm sorry,” he offers, but doesn't say anything else before locking himself away in the bathroom.

 

Larry gives the kid his space, turning the TV on and flipping it to the news. He doesn't pay attention, just lets the images flash before his eyes without absorbing the information. He lights up a cigarette and does his best to not over think the situation, waiting patiently without jumping to any conclusions. When he finally hears the bathroom door unlock after about fifteen minutes, he resists the urge to look over until the kid is right next to the bed.

Orange's eyes are red and puffy and he crawls back into bed without meeting Larry's gaze, returning to his previous position at the older man's side without saying anything.

“You wanna talk about it?” Larry asks, putting his cigarette out so he can pull Orange closer. The kid sniffs, shaking his head, and Larry doesn't push. “That's okay. You want me to head out and pick up some breakfast?”

“Stay, please?”

“Of course, sweet boy. Just tell me what you need.”

“I'm sorry, I'm bein' stupid. It's just...” Orange struggles for a moment, finding his words as he plays with Larry's chest hair, curling up close. “I didn't plan for this. I came here to do a job, man, but now I got a bad feeling about it and I don't want anything to happen to you.”

“Hey, that's just nerves, kid. It's a big job, your nervousness is completely justified. But it's gonna be okay. Two minutes, tops. We'll be in and out and then you an' me can run away together.” There's something indecipherable in Orange's eyes but Larry just kisses his head, sweeping his hand up and down the kid's back in an attempt to be comforting. “I hear they got some pretty good weed down in Mexico.”

This, at least, earns him a laugh.

“Wow, you sure know the way to a guy's heart.” Orange quips, but he finally looks up to meet Larry's eyes, looking a little bit less dejected. “I don't know Spanish.”

“Well, you're in luck my little hot tamale because I know a little bit more than that, and I'm sure we'll be able to figure it out from there.”

Orange shifts, moving so that he's straddling Larry's lap with his head on the older man's chest. “Think we could live by the beach?”

“Absolutely.”

“And would you fuck me on the beach?”

“If that's what you wanted.”

Orange smiles and leans up, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Larry's lips, grinding his hips down slowly. “I'd definitely want that.” He whispers, sitting up so he can rub his ass against Larry's dick. It's an incredibly sudden shift in dynamics but Larry's fine with it so long as the kid is, breath already becoming a little ragged. “Will you tell me your name when this is all over?” Orange asks, one hand roaming over White's chest while the other grips the waistband of his boxers.

“The moment this job is done I'll tell you anything you wanna know about me.” Larry promises, moving his hands to Orange's hips, thick fingers slipping beneath the hem of the kid's sweatpants.

“Yeah, me too.” Orange's breath hitches on a small moan as Larry wraps a hand around his cock, adopting the same rhythm as him. “Ah,  _fuck—_ your fuckin' hands, man, you have no idea. Plea—ah, god, don't stop,”

Larry rubs his thumb over the head of Orange's cock, using his other hand to guide his hips. He pushes away all thoughts of worry and chooses instead to focus on making Orange feel good, hoping against all hope that the kid can tell how much he cares. “Yeah, that's a good boy.” Larry encourages quietly, speaking mindlessly because it's hard to think with Orange on top of him, even with the layers of clothing still separating them. This kid turns him on like no one else, replacing all logical thought with desire. “Yeah, baby, just like that, you're doin' so good.”

Orange's hips gradually speed up as he fucks into Larry's hand with short gasps for breath, reaching to twine his fingers with the hand Larry has on his hip. He kisses the man's knuckles, clenching his eyes shut and tensing as orgasm hits him, reducing him to a trembling mess. Larry follows soon after, letting out a restrained grunt as his the kid continues to move against him. It doesn't matter that his boxers are probably ruined because the blissed out look Orange has makes it completely worth it.

As he catches his breath he pulls the younger man down to kiss him, gently cradling his face as the sweet nothings fall from his lips.

“You're so good to me.” Orange says between kisses, lips tasting of salt. He reaches over to the bedside table for a tissue, wiping the come from Larry's stomach and tossing it into the waste basket with an exhausted sigh. “God, how are you so good to me, I don't deserve you.”

Larry runs a thoughtful hand over Orange's knee, smiling like an old fool. “Deserve me or not, you got me.”

 

* * *

 

Larry sees red the moment Joe points his gun at Mr. Orange and he wastes no time in taking his own piece out, finger on the trigger, ready to pull. Out of his periphery he can see Eddie raise his gun but Larry's only concern is the one pointed at Orange and he will die before he sees this kid take another bullet, goddammit.

“Have you lost your fuckin' mind?” Eddie asks, and it's a valid question because Larry has known the Cabots a hell of a lot longer than he's known Mr. Orange. But it doesn't matter.

“Joe. You're making a terrible mistake I'm not gonna let you make.” Larry warns, and he really doesn't want to pull the trigger on this but lord help him, he will if he has to.

“Come on, guys, nobody wants this! We're supposed to be fuckin' professionals!” Pink shouts, trying in vain to diffuse a situation that he has no part in.

“White, look, it's been quite a long time. Lotta jobs. There's no need for this, man. Let's just...put our guns down and let's settle this with a fucking conversation.” Eddie's voice is serious and Larry has no doubt in his mind that the youngest Cabot won't have very many qualms about pulling the trigger, but this is between Larry and Joe.

“Joe, if you kill that man you die next. I repeat: if you kill that man, you die next.” Larry's not fucking joking around, shifting his grip on the gun and never once taking his eyes off of Joe.

“Larry...” Eddie continues, voice dangerously low. “We have been friends and you respect my dad and I respect you but I will put fuckin' bullets right through your heart, you put that fuckin' gun down, _now_.”

“Goddamn you Joe, don't make me do this.”

“LARRY, STOP POINTING THAT FUCKIN' GUN AT MY DAD!”

Joe's gun goes off first and Larry's finger automatically tightens on the trigger of his, putting a bullet right in the big guy's chest even as Eddie's bullets hit him. It's a fucking mess, the three of the collapsing onto the floor almost simultaneously. Through the pain, Larry notices that Joe and Nice Guy Eddie are both out cold and it's serves as some small relief. His bullet wounds are white hot and he has a bit of trouble seeing through the increasing shock of it, barely paying any mind as Pink—the fuckin' weasel—crawls out from under the ramp and scurries away with the satchel of diamonds.

Larry lies on his back for a moment before he can finally work up the energy to heave himself up. He has to check on his boy, driven by the thought that they might still be able to make it out of this, one small glimmer of hope in an otherwise fucked situation. Orange lets out a broken sob as they reach for each other, deathly pale and reaching out with blood stained hands.

At this point, it's impossible to tell whose blood is whose but Larry doesn't give a shit, getting as close to the kid as possible. The sirens in the distance are growing louder, but that doesn't matter because they're both still alive. They've still got each other. All is not yet lost.

Larry coughs as he heaves Mr. Orange's head into his lap, framing that gorgous, pale face with one of his hands. “I'm sorry, kid. Looks like we're gonna do a little time.” The words are punctuated by short, pained gasps but Larry's doing his best.

Orange writhes for a moment, dragging in a breath, and then he says it.

“I'm a cop. Larry...I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I'm a cop.”

The sharp stab of betrayal hurts even worse than the bullet wounds he's suffering from and Larry lets out a sob, desperately wishing he'd misheard. But he knows he didn't, and he's not sure how much of their relationship had been a lie. He can't even begin to fathom it. He's barely even aware of his tears because there's a dull rage igniting in his stomach, making it harder and harder to breath as pain hits him from all sides. He hates this kid for being a liar and a rat but even more than that he hates himself for falling for it—for falling in love with the kid. And he does love the kid, even now as he repeats ' _I'm sorry_ ' over and over again.

Larry can hear the shouting of cops outside and he knows that his options are limited. Dreams of Mexico and a house on the beach drift away and he raises his gun, pressing the cold metal of the barrel snug against Mr. Orange's cheek.

And the kid just keeps apologizing, gasping out the same phrase and putting his arms around Larry, pulling him closer. Maybe it would be easier for the old man if Orange showed any sort or rage, showed any indication that everything that had happened between them was a lie, but the kid just accepts it and Larry can physically feel his heart breaking.

He doesn't want to shoot this beautiful boy but what other option does he have? The kid's gonna testify against him, that's the entire fucking reason he's there. Larry imagines the kid reporting back to some higher up, telling them all about how he seduced one of Joe Cabot's boys, and he feels sick.

He's sobbing as the police storm through the door to the warehouse, letting out an inhuman howl as he tells himself to pull the fucking trigger already. Orange is bracing himself for it, fingers gripping tight at Larry's elbow, and it's only when Larry looks up to see all the guns trained on him that he makes up his mind.

They tell him to freeze, to drop the weapon, but he doesn't. He just keeps it pressed against Orange's jaw, finding some consolation in knowing that the moment he pulls the trigger he's gonna go down too. He can't see any other solution. Even through the hatred and the lies, Larry still loves this kid and he's gonna die right beside him. It's almost poetic.

The police continue to yell as Larry comes to terms with the situation, face twisted up in agony as he silently says his goodbyes. He hates the kid but he loves him, loves him more than anything else on the goddamn planet and it's sick and wrong but Larry would still run away to Mexico with him. If there were any way in the world they could make it out of this alive he'd choose that option but it's too late.

At least they can still be together.

Larry keeps his eyes trained on the cops as he pulls the trigger, his last thoughts wandering to the nights he'd spent with Orange and the way the kid kissed like they were made for each other.

Larry's only regret is that he never even knew the kid's name.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I love this ship more than any other ship in the world and so I thought I'd write something that would break my own heart. I'm sorry if the transitions are awkward, I wrote this nonstop during the small hours of the morning so I don't even know what makes sense anymore and what doesn't. Please forgive me for any glaring mistakes.


End file.
